


Teddy Bear Status

by tazziebubbles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Sam/Bucky, Bucky is taken in without the chaos, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Getting Together, Hints of Howard Stark's A+ parenting, Idiots in Love, In which Tony runs on coffee and spite, Light Angst, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers, The events of CA:CW conveniently did not happen, implied PTSD, see notes for trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26267848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tazziebubbles/pseuds/tazziebubbles
Summary: “So are we gonna talk about this?”There was a pause. Then-“Talk about what?”His gaze flicked to Steve, who was currently pressed up against him in every way imaginable, arms around his waist, head tucked into the crook of his neck, legs tangled with his own. He could even feel the occasional flutter of his eyelashes.Tony snorted. “Oh yeah, what could there possibly be to talk about?”~In which Tony almost dies (yet again) and a certain supersoldier becomes awfully touchy. Not that he minds.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 24
Kudos: 490





	Teddy Bear Status

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I watched CA:CW and this was written as an attempt to heal. I just think they're in love is all <3 
> 
> Possible Trigger Warnings: descriptions of panic attacks, symptoms of PTSD, brief hospitalization
> 
> If you think there's anything else I should add please let me know!

In hindsight, Tony should’ve seen it coming. Steve had always been a little… intense when it came to his safety on the field. 

“Tony.”

“No.”

“ _Tony-_ ” 

“Quit talking, Cap, and quit it with the pouty face you’ve got going. We’re almost home and I’m summoning up as many of your lectures in my head as I can, so I can perfectly emulate your Captain America tone of disapproval and throw it right back at you.” 

Steve sank back down into his seat with a sigh, radiating an aura of helpless defeat that really wasn’t characteristic of him, even after an intense fight. Tony wasn’t a whole lot better. His usual state of low-level exhaustion was rapidly approaching ‘might-fall-asleep-standing’ levels, and his multi-tasking capabilities had taken almost abysmal plunges. He could barely maintain two lines of thought at once, couldn’t even muster up concern at the tension wrought through Steve’s body, or the slight clench of his jaw as he examined his hands.

Dusk was settling outside, and warm rays of gold were cast across the floor of the Quinjet, spilling over onto a section of Steve’s hair. Which was absolutely not relevant whatsoever, because Tony was mad at him, and thoughts about how warm and cosy the dying sun made Steve appear were completely and utterly counterproductive. Totally irrelevant. 

What was he thinking about again? 

Right. Steve. The righteous, self-sacrificing maniac, who seemed to think Tony’s life was even _close_ to being worth his own. As if his life for Tony’s was a perfectly fine trade-off. He scrubbed a hand across his face, wondering vaguely if his head should be swimming this much, if the seats opposite him should be resembling blurry patches of colour. It was probably fine. Probably.

“If I pass out,” he said suddenly, “I don’t want anyone to catch me, got it? Just...let me fall. That’ll be my new life. Passed out on the ground forever.”

Natasha had that carefully blank expression on her face that told Tony she was trying not to smile. “It’s not us you have to worry about,” she said, jerking her head in Steve’s direction.

Tony let out a groan that was _way_ too harsh on his parched throat. He blinked away the tears stinging at his eyes with a small amount of horror ( _how long had his eyes been all watery?)_ and sat back in his seat.

“Don’t even talk to me about Captain Altruism right now.” 

He heard an annoyed huff somewhere from his left, then a cold bottle of water was being pressed into his side, before being placed pointedly on the seat next to him. Tony had to smother another groan at the mere sight of it. It’d been a long day, even by his standards.

“You need sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, cap,” he said, before promptly scooping up the bottle and downing at least half of it in a few long gulps. “Also, for the record, we _all_ need sleep.”

“Some of us don’t actually pull several all-nighters before a mission, believe it or not.”

“Oh right, like I plan my work binges around when a bunch of revamped doombots are gonna launch a spontaneous attack on several major cities.” 

Steve sucked in a deep breath, casting his gaze towards the ceiling as if asking God to give him strength. Tony would’ve smiled, if he had the energy.

Relative silence filled the Quinjet on the final leg home. Tony’s eyes were unfocused, barely tracking, and thinking was progressively beginning to feel like fumbling through mud. He had to make a conscious effort not to let his blinks last too long, or to succumb to the inviting warmth of being pressed to Steve’s side.

“Whoa there, steady buddy,” said Bruce as they exited the Quinjet, a hand curling around his bicep. He stumbled a little, footsteps clanging against metal.

“What did I say about letting me faint in peace?” he grumbled, while making no move to let go.

Bruce just smiled, serene as always. “You haven’t fainted.”

“Semantics.”

It was all sort of a blur from there. He remembered entering the compound, a few forms that were probably people surrounding him, exchanging quiet chatter. He remembered being laid down on his bed by strong arms, belonging to someone who looked suspiciously like-

“I’m still mad at you,” he mumbled, hugging a pillow to his chest.

There was gentle laughter, equal parts fond and amused. It had something warm settling inside Tony’s chest. 

“I know you are. Get some sleep, Tony.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he retorted, because even his exhausted self was contrary like that. And repetitive, apparently. 

Then, because the human body was an unfortunate thing with inconvenient needs and laying down doing absolutely nothing for hours on end was among them, his vision blacked out.

FRIDAY informed him the following morning that he’d managed about 14 hours of uninterrupted sleep, which he noted with glee was enough to last him a _long_ while. FRIDAY immediately rejected that notion, offering him a lecture about REM rebound and sleep debt, which Tony very happily ignored in favour of stirring sugar into his coffee. He was going to get wired on caffeine, and he was going to use his newfound energy to track down Steve and give him a Captain America patented lecture about responsibility on the field. 

“I’ll throw in a few stern glares, like those ones from the old-school recruitment posters. That’ll teach him.”

“Teach him for valuing your life, boss?” 

“Don’t even wanna hear it, Fri,” he said, raising a hand. 

Tony was treated to a pointed silence after that, not that he minded. He found Steve sitting in the rec room, feet propped up on the couch, face scrunched up with vibrant laughter. Afternoon sunlight poured in through the windows, crowning his hair like a damn _halo_. Which was completely unfair, as a side note. He had to be doing that on purpose, just to tug at every single one of Tony’s heartstrings. 

“Steve, we need to talk.”

Bucky, who was occupying the opposite couch, looked unfathomably gleeful. 

“Give him hell, Stark.”

Steve sent him a dark look, almost immediately sobered. “Shut it, Buck,” he warned, without any real heat. 

The kitchen was unoccupied, so that’s where Tony eventually settled, hoisting himself up onto the counter and folding his arms over his chest. He noted, somewhat miserably, that even now he wasn’t eye-level with Steve. Tony could practically hear Clint’s voice in his head, telling him through laughter that there was _‘nothing wrong with being vertically challenged.’_ He’d damn near fired up his repulsors right then and there. 

“Tell me, Steve, what do I generally wear on the field?”

Steve’s jaw clenched for a moment. “Armour, but-” 

“Armour! Good, good, I’m glad we’ve got that down. Now, what do _you_ generally wear on the field?”

“My uniform may not be as tough as your-”

“Not armour! Good. Okay. Now, given those facts, wanna explain _why_ you jumped me when you noticed an explosive?”

Tony could feel the blow even now, the brunt of it aimed directly at his chest, knocking him into a nearby wall and leaving him a heap of armour just for a moment. Obviously, that’s when Steve had thrown himself over him, covering his body, his startled shout through the comms enough to disorient Tony’s sleep-addled brain and leave him reeling. The Hulk had taken care of the explosive, but it had been a close thing. 

“Tony. That armour...it’s great, obviously, but you’re still not enhanced underneath it. My uniform could’ve taken a lot of the impact, and my healing factor would’ve taken care of the rest. It was a split-second decision but I still stand by it.”

“ _Steve_ ,” said Tony, in mimicry of Steve’s own tone, “I appreciate that you have your cute red, white and blue kevlar get-up, but seriously? Gold-titanium suit of armour ring a bell? You didn’t even have your _shield._ And this isn’t the first time either, you have a worrying habit of jumping directly into the line of fire to protect me. Which is like, y’know, sweet I guess, but Cap. _Armour!_ Your uniform can take a few high-calibre bullets at point-blank range, sure, but not without some serious blunt force trauma. Your healing factor doesn’t work magic, and one day, if something takes you out that my armour could’ve dealt with…” he paused, shaking his head. “I feel like that’d be on me.”

Steve seemed positively wounded at that, all wide-eyed and earnest and _hurt_ , which was just. Not good for Tony’s heart by any measure. Steve’s disapproval was a force to be reckoned with - when he had real fire behind his eyes, disappointment burning in his gaze, tone cold and clipped and _awful._ Somehow, the horror in his expression, in the way he stood ramrod straight, like he was reacting to Tony’s words on an almost visceral level, was even worse. Steve Rogers had a soul that burned fiercely with almost everything he did, and it scared Tony sometimes, just a little. He couldn’t imagine openly wearing his heart on his sleeve that way, without trying to hide somehow. Pesky deep-seated hang-ups about allowing himself to be vulnerable and all that, courtesy of his lovely father.

“It wouldn’t be on you.” 

Tony smiled, somewhat sardonically. “Easy for you to say.” 

“I know.” 

The silence that followed lasted a shade too long to be comfortable. There was a quip on the tip of Tony’s tongue, ready to lighten the mood, a reflex that came easier to him than breathing at that point. Steve spoke before Tony could give voice to it. 

“It was an impulse. Protecting you, I mean. It usually always is. I don’t even have to think about it, I just kind of...act.”

Tony aimed for a laugh but fell drastically short, ending up with a choked sort of noise that was awfully close to revealing just how intensely uncomfortable he was suddenly feeling. Which was ridiculous, obviously, because it was _Steve_ who had just admitted that protecting him was _impulse_ , thank you very much. So _what_ if Tony was pointedly ignoring the fact that he often felt the exact same way.

Steve chose that moment to frown, and oh look, there was that divot that appeared between his eyebrows when he was concerned, always making Tony falter for a second.

Which, again, was totally not the point here. 

“Well, you better start learning how to override your impulses, because I categorically refuse to lose you. And don’t take that lightly because I don’t half-ass shit. I’m stubborn like that.”

A warm smile spread across Steve’s face at that, and his stance became more open, relaxed. “I know you don’t take it lightly. I don’t either. I can’t promise much, but...I’ll work on it.” 

Tony hopped down from the counter and gave his cheek an affectionate pat.

“Altruistic son of a bitch.” 

Steve knocked his shoulder into Tony’s as they left the kitchen, back towards the rec room. 

“Hey. Everyone has their blind spots.”

“Does that make me your blind spot?”

“I don’t know. Does it?”

Tony hoped the grin painted across his face didn’t look too relieved. This was safe territory now, their back-and-forths usually had an effortless ebb and flow that made them predictable. Tony could do predictable. Emotions weren’t predictable. 

“You can still see me though, right? Even though I’m one of your blind spots? It’s just - it’d be a real shame to miss all this,” he said, with a vague gesture to himself. 

Steve didn’t miss a beat. 

“‘Course I can see you. It’d be a damn tragedy if I couldn’t see you.” 

And _yeah_ , Tony was a little gobsmacked. Sue him. He liked the guy, but he’d spent an afternoon with Bucky and Sam once swapping stories about all of their romantic misadventures, and Steve was about as smooth as the pothole-filled New York streets.

He was quick to gather his wits again however, hurrying forward to fall back in step with him.

“Hey, _babe_ , come on now, you can’t just imply that you find me easy on the eyes and walk off like that.”

“Oh, so it’s babe now?”

“It’s babe if you tell me I’m pretty,” said Tony, with an exaggerated bat of his eyelashes. 

Steve snorted as they rounded a corner, approaching the rec room. There were a few others sprawled about the place now, Natasha curled up on an armchair, Rhodey watching on with faint amusement as Sam laid out the basics of a video game to Bucky. Except - Bucky didn’t appear to be listening, hellbent on fixing both him and Steve with a horrified sort of expression that had Tony positively beaming. Everyone else seemed unfazed, but then again, Bucky was the only one in that room with superhearing. 

“You two are disgusting.”

Steve’s smile took on a sheepish edge, and he sidled forward to join Rhodey on the couch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Buck.”

“Don’t know what I’m talking about my _ass,_ ” he said, punctuating the word with a sharp jab to Steve’s shin.

Tony just laughed, completely unrepentant. “Careful who you’re calling disgusting there, snowflake. I have at least one veritable source that can confirm I am anything _but_.”

He sent a playful glance in Steve’s direction as he dropped down onto the couch beside Rhodey, more than thrilled to find that a blush had spread itself across his cheeks. 

“I really like that shade of pink on you, by the way.” 

“Tony.”

“I wanna go back to cryo.”

_“Bucky.”_

Tony pressed a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, burrowing into Rhodey’s side. The man in question let out a sigh, but the smile tugging at his lips told Tony he didn’t mind too much, as well as the arm he raised to accommodate him. 

He supposed that really, that marked the start of a) Steve’s apparent protective streak and b) their strange banter-verging-on-flirting, which Tony didn’t mind one bit, because flirting had always come second nature to him and well. Steve had a lot going for him, once you got past some of the prickly disposition that came with the Captain America persona he often donned, ever the dutiful soldier. Tony had always known this of course, in a sort of peripheral way. Still, he hadn’t fully _appreciated_ it until he found Steve hopping between the rooftops of some ridiculously tall Manhattan buildings, all because Sam had bet him 20 dollars that he couldn’t. Tony’s blood pressure had spiked one too many times that particular evening, hovering around in his iron man suit like some helicopter parent while thousands of stars winked down at them from the night sky, practically _taunting_ him. It was nice, though. Hearing Sam and Steve’s laughter, carried away by the wind, had sort of made it worth it. Not that he’d ever tell them that. 

For the record, Tony honestly didn’t think it had been that huge of a deal. Apparently, the team hadn’t exactly shared that sentiment, and neither had his therapist for that matter - something about ‘valuing his life’ and ‘counterproductive, unhelpful patterns of thinking.’ 

“Alright guys, one more question then we’re gonna wrap up.” 

He flashed a smile for good measure, leaning back in his seat with what he hoped was an air somewhere between charming and nonchalant. He had that combination down to an exact science at this point, of course, but he was feeling just the slightest bit out of sorts from a long day. 

If Steve’s gaze hadn’t lingered on him a few moments after he’d spoken, things could’ve gone very differently. Or so he’d been told. Really, the memories were fragments more than anything, blurry and disjointed, sounds bleeding into various blotchy shapes of colour. 

He remembered Steve’s shout, so frantic in comparison to how calm he’d seemed just moments earlier. He remembered the impact, the white-hot pain that seemed to radiate from his ribs right down to his limbs in waves. The sound of a bullet clanging against metal, the cold tiles against his back as he was tackled and the warm body that covered him, unsteady, trembling.

Then, it was stiff hospital pillows, the smell of disinfectant, and a room so white it almost made him want to be sick. Or maybe that was because his stomach was churning and twisting unpleasantly, something horrible and bitter burning up his throat. 

“Traitors,” he managed, upon blearily cracking his eyes open. “Taking me to a hospital. Where’s your sense of loyalty?”

Steve was the first person to swim into view, eyebrows knitted together with worry, tension woven through every line of his body. 

“Tony. Does it hurt anywhere?”

He blinked. The sharp pain spiralling through his veins had dulled down to something more tolerable now, and with how hazy he felt, how slow the messages to his limbs seemed to be, it had to be due to a painkiller of some kind. His throat was almost unbearably dry, protesting with every swallow.

“‘M fine. Why am I here?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath, and Tony was vaguely able to conjure up the thought that his eyes seemed suspiciously glassy. 

“You’re _here_ , because you have several bruised and fractured ribs, and they’re monitoring you for any major head injuries,” came a low voice, accompanied by a cool hand against his forehead, pressing him gently down into the pillow.

He tried for a smile, but probably fell short. “Romanoff.”

“Stark,” she acknowledged, a certain fondness creeping its way into her tone.

Steve and Nat exchanged a few pointed looks, which Tony had some trouble deciphering, then Nat was exiting the room, heels clacking against the polished tiles. 

Steve placed a bottle of water on the sheets beside him before settling down on a chair, eyes scanning over him like he was confirming that everything was still okay. That Tony wouldn’t spontaneously drop dead or something along those lines. The shield was resting by his feet, and the glances he kept tossing towards the door were beginning to border on excessive, like he was expecting someone to burst in at any moment for a second go at him. 

“Tony,” he began, and Tony didn’t like that tone one bit.

“Be gentle with me, it’s my first assassination attempt,” he managed, with a small groan.

That wasn’t even true, but it sounded good in his head. 

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh. “The sniper is in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, because Fury seems to think this could be Hydra-related, even though I told him they probably hate me a whole more than they hate you. The guy’s refusing to talk so we don’t know if he was hired by anyone yet. I offered to help out with a bit of creative persuasion, but apparently that suggestion wasn’t appreciated very much.”

Tony couldn’t help but snort. “Bet that wasn’t confusing at all. Captain America, paradigm of virtue and justice, offering to beat up a perp for information.”

“I wouldn’t have laid a finger on him,” Steve argued. “I can be compelling when I want to be.”

“Right, with your glares and your stern tones of disapproval. Probably could’ve guilted him into making him talk, huh?”

When that earned him a pointed silence, Tony shifted, struggling to sit up on his elbows without jostling the wrappings around his chest. “Lighten up, cap. You’ve probably witnessed me almost die like what, eight times already?”

“You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?”

“Oh, come on. An assassination attempt is tame compared to all the shit we deal with in our day job. All I want right now is my workshop and some coffee.”

“If it hadn’t of been for that bulletproof vest-”

“I’d be dead, yeah, yeah, I think that’s been established already. But here’s the thing - I’m _not_ dead, I’m very much alive, and I’d very much like to work on some new suit upgrades and get on with my life.”

Steve’s hands balled temporarily into fists, knuckles turning white with the pressure of it. He released them with a long, shaky exhale, directing his focus towards the bed again. 

Tony probably should’ve figured it out from the distinct lack of light that had been trying to worm its way under his eyelids as he laid there, but the realisation only hit him then that it was night time. The fluorescent lights had been shut off, leaving only the pale glow that seeped in beneath the door.

“Are you guys even supposed to be here right now?”

Relief warmed his chest as he watched the corners of Steve’s mouth twitch, resembling something like a smile, even if it was only for a brief moment. “Being Captain America comes with certain perks.”

“You bastard,” he breathed, grinning helplessly. 

Steve took a moment to try and gather himself again, but the mirth shone through stubbornly at the corners of his mouth.

“You know, cap, anger is much more convincing if you forgo the smile.”

“Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Don’t think for one second I’m dropping this conversation, Tony,” he said, with just the slightest trace of sheepishness in his voice. “You’re laying low for a few days at least. _You_ might not care that some lunatic tried to shoot you but _I_ do. We _all_ do.”

Tony didn’t know what it was about about those words that had him softening, but in just a few short seconds, he’d melted back into the pillows with a defeated sigh, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

“I do care. Sort of. I care that _you guys_ care. I’ll - I’ll talk to Pep. Reschedule some meetings. Lie low for a few days if that’s what’ll make you all feel better. I got shit to do in the workshop anyways.”

And really, giving some murderous bastard the pleasure of seeming even slightly shaken, of seeing him hide out at the compound like some coward, it was worth it when the smile Steve gave him was so bright. His heart clenched in his chest at the sight, which was ever so slightly concerning, because his heart seemed to be doing an awful number of funny things lately. A glance down confirmed that the arc reactor was still glowing, bright as ever, which probably meant he was okay for now. Maybe. A few centimeters higher, and that bullet might’ve royally screwed his life up. 

“You know what we should get?” he asked suddenly.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Burgers.”

“You haven’t been discharged yet-”

“Which is exactly why I have a supersoldier with a motorcycle,” he said, offering him a sugary sweet smile. “Why else do you think I keep you around?”

Steve just stared for a moment, a small amount of disbelief flickering over his face. He stood up with an awfully fond shake of his head.

“Only because you’re hurt.”

“Oh yeah, I’m wounded real bad. On the verge of keeling over and dying, if I’m honest.”

That earned him a sharp look of disapproval.

He grinned. “Sorry. Too soon?”

Steve looked up to the ceiling for a moment, and Tony was _really_ beginning to notice a trend here. 

“Look after the punk. Shield’s in Sam’s custody ‘till I get back,” he said, as he exited. 

Bucky entered the room then, closely followed by Nat and a gleeful-looking Sam. 

“Lucky for you, I have a whole lotta experience lookin’ after mouthy punks with no regard for their own safety.”

Tony snorted as Sam scooped the shield up from the ground, striking a pose.

“Yeah, like I _asked_ to get shot on a Tuesday afternoon. I’m guessing you three were apart of operation ‘break into the hospital and bug Tony’ then?”

“ _Politely enter,_ Tony,” said Sam, giving his head a pat. “Not break in. _Politely enter._ ”

Tony smiled. Maybe getting shot didn’t have to be the worst thing ever. That probably counted as an unhelpful, counterproductive pattern of thinking, though. 

* * *

He didn’t think much of it at first. 

With Pepper demanding that FRIDAY keep him inside, Rhodey thoroughly vetting any and everyone who entered the compound, and his teammates doing a comically terrible job at trying to conceal their hovering, Steve’s constant touches were comparably tame. 

Besides, a hand on the shoulder here and a brush against the small of his back there were decidedly chaste forms of contact, enough to be noticeable but not enough for Tony to call attention to it. He wasn’t blind either - a few hours was all it had taken him to notice that Steve resolutely remained a maximum of three rooms away from him at all times - but that was something he could live with for the time being. 

Then, a few days passed, and some of the insistent protectiveness let up. Tony was back to attending board meetings, supervising certain R&D projects, and getting his _own_ damn coffee from his favourite café. It was hard to say what exactly had opened the floodgate, but suddenly, brushes of contact became something more lingering. Steve had waltzed right into his personal space like he belonged there and set up shop, which... it was amusing, Tony would give him that. He wasn’t exactly _helping_ matters with all of the positive reinforcement he had going either - wistful sighs, hums of content, leaning into every point of contact and warmth like a man pathetically starved for affection. 

And you know what? Yeah. Maybe it was a little pathetic, but sue him for wanting to soak up anything he could while Steve’s clinginess knew no bounds. He was used to merely being humoured when it came to his fondness for being tactile with friends (hello again, wonderful childhood), so it really wasn’t an entirely unwelcome change of pace.

That being said, Tony utterly resented the notion that he required some supersoldier bodyguard at all times to be safe, and he said as much, while never actually doing anything to prevent it. He didn’t much appreciate the amused looks thrown his way either, like he was being totally transparent with his token protests. Like he was being stripped bare, like every non-platonic thought he’d entertained about Steve had been tossed out into the open for all to see. 

But it was okay. Mostly. 

“So are we gonna talk about this?” 

There was a pause. Then-

“Talk about what?”

His gaze flicked to Steve, who was currently pressed up against him in every way imaginable, arms around his waist, head tucked into the crook of his neck, legs tangled with his own. He could even feel the occasional flutter of his eyelashes. 

Tony snorted. “Oh yeah, what could there possibly be to talk about?” 

They were approaching the two week mark now, and Steve still seemed adamant about his newfound duty as a supersoldier octopus, which had Tony just the slightest bit concerned. 

Dusk was approaching, and he watched with a vague sort of interest as the sun set in a pool of deep reds outside, wispy clouds brightened by the remaining light. Their teammates had retreated to their various crevices, some gathering in the training rooms, while others prepared for the Charity gala scheduled that night. All but a few had caved and agreed to go - Pepper could be incredibly persuasive when she wanted to be, especially when it came to Avengers PR, and how it could reflect on SI. Their various missions had conveniently been scheduled around this particular day, leaving them with the rather rare occurrence of having a virtually full house. 

“Look, I’m not necessarily against being your glorified teddy bear, but is this like, a coping thing or something? A life-affirming thing? Because I thought it was pretty evident already that I am, in fact, alive. And breathing. And functioning, somewhat.”

Steve let out a breath at that, and Tony barely suppressed a shudder. 

“It’s just comforting,” he murmured, letting a hand settle tentatively over Tony’s shirt, just above the arc reactor. “It means you’re safe. If something happens, I’m right here.”

Tony laughed, because _really_ , those words should _not_ have had fondness lighting him up from the inside out, spreading warmth down to his fingertips. Steve tipped his head up to look at him, and he sobered almost immediately upon seeing the same fondness reflected back in those eyes. 

“I’ve been proven very hard to kill, Rogers,” he said, sort of hating himself for throwing Steve’s last name in there. 

If Steve noticed, he didn’t comment on it.

“I know you can protect yourself,” he said, “but knowing you still have me to fall back on, it just...I don’t know. Makes me feel better. And…you’re warm. And nice to have around.”

Slightly horrified by all the emotion he could feel welling up in his throat, forming a lump that was becoming increasingly hard to swallow around, Tony directed his gaze towards the ceiling panels. Because they were fascinating, _not_ because he needed to blink away the sting in his eyes.

“Jesus, cap. You don’t need to butter me up, I’m totally at peace with being relegated to teddy bear status.”

Steve seemed to draw away at that, taking the warmth from where’d they’d been pressed together with him, and Tony wondered for a moment if the heating system was broken, because _surely_ the living space wasn’t normally this cold. He’d take that up with FRIDAY later.

“It’s true though,” said Steve, looking unfairly like a kicked puppy, confusion drawing his eyebrows together and creating that _damn_ crease of concern. Trademarked and everything. 

Tony wriggled out from under the blanket, giving Steve a friendly pat on the head. 

“I’m sure it is, pal. As much as I’d love to cuddle the night away, I think we should start getting ready.”

Steve lifted himself up from the couch with a sigh. “I still don’t think you should be going.”

“Hey, big guy, we have a deal remember? I ruin the lines of my suit with body armour, you let up with all the protests.”

Tony struggled to contain a smile when Steve raised his hands, eyes suddenly glimmering with a contained sort of mischief that might well have been overlooked by someone who didn’t know him. A deadly mistake, if you asked him. 

“What? What is it, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like _that_ ,” said Tony, narrowing his eyes.

Steve placed an easy hand on his shoulder, and Tony was struck briefly by just how blue his eyes were, caught by the orange glow of the setting sun. Before he could go full lovestruck teenager and wax poetic about blues and oranges and maybe even oceans at sunset, Steve was turning away, a smile twitching on his face.

“Go get ready, Tony.”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” he asked Steve’s retreating figure, and all he got for his efforts was a soft laugh, which was sort of worth it if Tony was being honest, and _yeah_. This was bad. It’d been a long, _long_ while since he’d been chased around for days on end by thoughts about one person, because one person shouldn’t have all that power over him, not when power was so easily abused. He shouldn’t be distracted by internal musings about blue eyes, or the curve of Steve’s mouth when he was being snarky, or the way his arms looked while he was tossing his shield about in the training room.

Flirting was nice of course, but it wasn’t as fun when he was always left feeling a little empty, like things weren’t quite fitting together like they were supposed to anymore, like he didn’t feel quite right in his own skin. 

Tony sighed as he entered his room. Oh, the melodrama. He could practically _hear_ FRIDAY’s judgmental silence as he laughed to himself somewhat hysterically, fishing through his closet of suits. 

He was informed by a beaming Sam upon re-entering the living space that Clint had a wardrobe malfunction, and would likely be delayed for several minutes. Tony settled down beside the man on the couch, eyes narrowed skeptically.

“What kind of wardrobe malfunction?”

“Well...you know how’s he’s super protective of his Capri-suns?”

Tony sank down into the couch, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m gonna kill you all one day.”

“Even your cuddle buddy?” asked Sam, and he did _not_ appreciate the shit-eating grin on his face one bit. 

“Leave my cuddle buddy out of this,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger.

“Is it just me or is your face looking a little red there?”

And if _that_ wasn’t unfair as all hell, because he _knew_ his face wasn’t red but he was beginning to feel like maybe it was. He didn’t even dignify the remark with a response, offering Sam a playful smile and pitching his voice up high to something resembling an off-key falsetto.

“Oh Bucky, won’t you come jogging with me? Oh no, no, no, Steve’s busy, trust me, it’ll just be us. Oh Bucky, I can’t believe you’d jump in front of me like that with your big, strong metal arm, you’re such an idiot, I think I might-”

He collapsed back down onto the couch with a hand raised to his forehead, letting out a startled laugh when Sam followed with an indignant noise, tackling him. He carefully avoided his lower ribs however, which Tony was grateful for. 

“That’s it, Stark!”

And Tony did _not_ start giggling like crazy, because he does _not_ giggle, as they wrestled around on the couch like a pair of fourth-graders. He’d passed by the training rooms on numerous occasions of course, pausing to watch in amusement as Sam and Steve’s sparring devolved into playful wrestling, but he generally preferred to train alone unless he’d been coaxed into joining one of his teammates. Usually Steve. Or Nat, for that matter. 

Sam had the clear upper hand by the time they were alerted to the presence of other people by a pointedly cleared throat, although they’d both been weakened a bit by laughter. The creases of his Ford suit had _definitely_ been messed up, but he noted with a small hint of satisfaction that Sam’s had been too. Majorly. His hair was probably a bit tousled as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The dishevelled look hadn't worked out too badly for him in the past.

He directed his gaze towards the doorway, where two well-dressed supersoldiers were looking more than a little amused.

“How long exactly were you two left alone?” asked Steve.

Tony shrugged, unapologetic. “Two minutes, maybe? And get that damn shield off your back, Cap, wearing that with your suit is pure sacrilege. I _probably_ won’t die without your holy shield in my presence for more than two seconds, but if I do, you’re more than welcome to play nursemaid.”

Steve sputtered as Tony walked by. “How am I gonna play nursemaid if you’re dead?”

“You’ll figure it out. Be inventive!” 

He heard Bucky snort somewhere behind him as he fell into step with Rhodey, who gave his arm a sharp elbow.

“Nursemaid, huh? That your thing now?”

Tony threw him a smirk. “I dunno, honeybear, depends on who’s playing nurse. You know I’d have you any day of the-”

“You just _love_ making things weird, don’t you?” he asked, with a smile that took away any real heat the words might’ve had.

Pepper was waiting by the cars for them, looking thoroughly unimpressed with her arms folded tightly over her chest. Tony would have to remember to buy her some _very_ expensive shoes. FRIDAY was probably ordering some as they spoke, if he was being honest. She was intuitive like that.

And if Tony was the first to shuffle across the seat, pressing himself up against Steve’s side, well, it _was_ a little cold in that car. 

* * *

Let it be known that Tony had somewhat of a love-hate relationship with touch. 

It had been so unbearably easy for Obadiah to position him exactly how he wanted, with the front of a man who cared, with constant touches, with constant attention. In hindsight, the thought had nausea churning in his gut, how young he’d been and how _desperate_ he’d been for everything Obadiah had to offer, including the easy affection. 

Of course, he’d always appreciated that touch could be a powerful part of subterfuge, he was fully acquainted with the myriad of ways in which people could be persuasive, it was simply business. Except - then he’d had his arc reactor forcibly ripped out of him by someone who’d acted like an uncle to him for decades, had been robbed of every ounce of agency possible in what could’ve been his last moments. That had left him with an almost irrational fear of strangers touching him, which was awfully inconvenient to navigate when you attracted press and attention everywhere you went. 

He’d reduced his pathetic flinching right down to the occasional tense of his shoulders, but he’d never quite manage to shake the icy claws that would grip his chest whenever someone came too close to the arc reactor, squeezing until it was too much for his diminished lung capacity to cope with and he’d slip into a blind panic, struggling to breathe around his dread. 

It didn’t happen often, but even that was far too much for Tony’s liking. Preferably, he’d never have to lose his shit over a misplaced hand on the shoulder by an overenthusiastic businessman, covering up his discomfort with artificial laughter and half-hearted quips. In his more exhausted states of being, he’d often resort to talking at about a million miles per hour, tripping all over his words like a lunatic. 

Which, really, was why Tony didn’t mind so much when Steve’s hand found the small of his back as they navigated the dinner tables. People didn’t tend to lay it on so thick with the contact when Captain America was hovering somewhat ominously by your shoulder like a guardian angel. 

He’d gone through the motions, winged his way through a killer speech, mingled with the rambunctious New York socialites seated at his table, approached all the right people, made all the right overtures. 

“Not that I mind,” he murmured, once they’d found a moment of quiet, “but usually you end up in a corner with about ten women hanging onto your every horribly awkward word. Any reason you’re playing bodyguard today?” 

Steve flashed him a smile, all bright eyed and playful. “Apart from the fact that you were almost killed two weeks ago?” 

“Oh, _that?_ I nearly forgot that happened. Please, cap, remind me for the hundredth time exactly what occurred, it’s been far too long since I’ve heard those stern tones of yours. A downright agony.” 

He turned when he heard a long-suffering sigh somewhere behind his left shoulder, trying and failing to keep the smile off his lips. 

“Your indifference towards life continues to astound me.”

“Was that sarcasm? That was definitely sarcasm.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s hardly a new invention.” 

“You’re right. I just reinvented it, is all. Made it something better.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you an inventor? I must’ve missed that. It’s been a few seconds too long since you’ve reminded me.” 

Tony just stared for a moment, before breaking out into a downright grin and swinging an arm over Steve’s shoulders, guiding him over towards the bar. 

“Can I get you anything, Captain Temperance? Some apple juice, maybe? Sugar may not be alcohol, but it’s all the same poison.” 

Steve threw him an amused look. “Water’s fine. It’s getting a little stuffy in here.” 

Tony nodded wisely. “I forget that you’re a supersoldier heater sometimes. Definitely not a capsicle anymore.”

It was fine. They were sat together at a bar with matching glasses of water, the alcohol was flowing around them, the chatter wasn’t overwhelming. Steve was bathed in an orange glow, courtesy of the candles that scattered the venue, and Tony was man enough to admit that he might’ve been just a little enamoured by how open it made him look, by the soft angle of his jaw and the brightness in his eyes. The sky was a canvas of black outside, speckled with bright stars, and everything was just _fine_. 

Then a man approached. Which also would’ve been fine, for the record, it was just that everything about his disposition just _screamed_ Obadiah, from his physical appearance right down to the eerie tilt of his smile. 

And because Tony was weak, he swayed into Steve before he could stop himself, beat the urge back down with a stick. He righted himself almost immediately, but he knew Steve noticed. He always noticed. Great for missions, bad for hiding. 

“Tony Stark!” the man exclaimed, with that perfect spark of familiarity in his tone that was commonplace for events like these, like Tony knew who the hell he was. 

Tony hesitated just a fraction before forcing his lips upward into a smile, smothering the wince that wanted to twist across his face. 

“Toby!” he read from his name tag, “how’re you doing, buddy?” 

Really, the business pitch that followed could’ve been the best damn thing since sliced bread, could’ve been the most earth-shattering innovation known to man, but Tony wouldn’t know because the next thing Toby did was slap a hand down on his shoulder, right where it met his neck. 

He didn’t always panic when people got close to the arc reactor; a tangled web of factors Tony himself couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t operationalise or make sense of the way he so desperately wanted to, generally determined how his body chose to respond. 

It might’ve been the resemblance to Obadiah, or the sly lilt of his voice, or the force with which he clamped down on Tony’s shoulder, unrelenting, or the way he towered over him due to the fact that Tony was still sat down.

Whatever it was, he could feel the dread grip him almost instantly, could feel his skin crawling, a shiver bolting its way up his spine. His stomach felt as though it’d been dropped from the peak of a building right into ice, his heart was in his throat and he could barely _breathe_ around it, couldn’t even multitask, couldn’t even-

“Tony? Tony, there’s Avengers business, I need to talk to you alone.” 

Now that voice was familiar; low, kind, soothing, and Tony was drawn away from his head for a moment, zeroing back in on his environment. Steve was glancing down at his phone, his feigned expression of impatience lit up by the screen. Toby’s rambling immediately tapered off into small noises of confusion, brows furrowed as he turned his gaze to Steve like he hadn’t even realised he’d been there in the first place. 

“Is it not something that can wait? I-“

“It’s urgent,” said Steve, and Tony only realised then how _tense_ he looked, lips pressed into a thin line of suppressed anger, shoulders held high, chest puffed out. 

Toby looked as though he wanted to protest some more, but Steve wasn’t having it, ignoring him entirely in favour of pressing a hand to Tony’s back and coaxing him forward with a murmured “come on, let’s get you out of here.”

“My business card,” Toby said as a last-ditch effort, leaning forward to tuck it into Tony’s front pocket and _fuck_ , that was far too close to the arc reactor, far, _far_ too close. Steve snatched it up before he could do so, and Tony felt himself melt a little with relief. 

He gathered up the scraps of his remaining dignity and offered the man a quick smile as Steve herded him away. It wasn’t his fault that Tony happened to have some pesky unresolved trauma, after all. 

“Some other time, buddy!” 

Neither of them spoke until they’d reached a secluded corner of the outdoor garden, obscured from view by a neatly trimmed rose bush. Carefully maintained flower beds surrounded the perimeter, a riot of purple and blue, with smatterings of yellow. The night air was sticky sweet with it all, and suddenly, breathing seemed to come to Tony a whole lot easier. 

He turned his gaze to Steve as he sucked in greedy lungfuls of air, and something hot, something like _shame_ began to rise up inside him. He felt numb and overwhelmed all at once, as though his mind was trying to process his emotionally charged state but couldn’t quite cope.

“I probably could’ve stuck around,” he said, pointedly holding Steve’s gaze. He wasn’t ashamed, he _wasn’t_. 

Steve’s tipped his head to the side, genuine puzzlement swimming in his eyes. “You looked like you were on the verge of repulsor blasting him.” 

Tony glanced absently down at his watch. He supposed he _did_ have a habit of fiddling with it sometimes. 

“Being on the verge of doing something and actually doing it are two very different things,” he argued, somewhat meekly. “I get the urge to repulsor blast someone at least three times a day, but that sort of thing is generally frowned upon in polite society.” 

“You were panicking.” 

“Well, I mean, that’s a bit of a-“ 

Steve raised his eyebrows at him. Tony deflated with a sigh. Stupid all-seeing supersoldiers. 

“The arc reactor, he got too - if he’d just, just kept his hands to himself, it would’ve been goddamn _fine-_ “ 

Steve shushed him, and Tony was almost glad he didn’t have to keep up his rambling nonsense, his futile efforts to explain without explaining. 

Then, Steve was moving forward and wrapping him up in a hug, and Tony felt himself _melt_ , gripping Steve’s blazer like a lifeline and pressing forward, trying to disappear completely into the embrace through sheer force of will. 

He didn’t say a word about the way Steve’s hands gravitated towards his wrist, towards his chest, or the distinct sigh of relief he felt against his skin when he must’ve found both a pulse and a fully functioning arc reactor. 

Maybe they were both a little screwed up. 

Maybe being able to touch meant more to Steve than Tony had initially realised. 

* * *

Call him stubborn, but once Tony started working on a project, he found it incredibly difficult to stop. He’d never been one for breaks or quick five minute walks around the block, no matter how often it was harped on, no matter what sort of supposed wonders it could do for his wellbeing. Once he was in the right headspace, he didn’t care for being interrupted unless aliens had spontaneously announced their intent to enslave humans, or if he’d run out of coffee, or if he’d hit a sudden roadblock and he needed to vent a bit of frustration. As was the case for these pending Starkphone optimizations. 

Which, of course, was how he’d found himself in the common room at 2 am, nursing a mug of coffee and muttering distractedly as he walked the hall. He froze momentarily upon noticing Steve, who seemed to be sprawled across the couch, staring up at the ceiling with a glazed sort of look in his eye. In the darkness, every single hue was muted, and silvery moonlight streamed in through parted blinds, falling in pale strips across the couch. The part of Steve’s face that was illuminated seemed almost...well, ethereal, really. If he was going to be sappy about it. A palpable stillness blanketed the room, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside. 

A smile tugged at Tony’s lips as he approached, clearing his throat. “So what’s it tonight, then, cap? The futility of existence, the inevitability of death, or some good old fashioned fatalism?”

Steve didn’t seem surprised by the intrusion; he’d probably heard Tony coming from a mile away. He wondered briefly just what the extent of his superhearing was. Maybe he’d conduct an experiment some time, in the name of healthy scientific curiosity. 

The response came just a few seconds shy of late. 

“None of the above,” he said, and Tony could hear the smile in his voice, “I’m just taking a break from...well, from reviewing our last mission, and planning our next one. Sort of contemplating whether hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s servers to find out more about that sniper guy is worth it or if it’s just been too long since I last slept.”

 _That_ startled a laugh out of Tony. “Not being very forthcoming right now then, huh? That’s sort of their thing, I guess. Let me tell you though, I know a thing or two about obtaining unauthorized access to restricted S.H.I.E.L.D. files.” He paused, looking evenly at Steve for a moment, before setting his mug down and laying down perpendicular to him on the L shaped lounge. “Also, I know you’re a bit behind the times, but nobody says hack anymore. Trust me. I don’t know which heathen has been spouting it around the compound, but we just don’t.”

Steve rolled over and propped his head up on one hand, eyes glittering with mirth. “Really? Rhodes told me it’s one of your favourite words. Said you’d love to hear it.”

“That little-” 

“Hey now, I’m sure he doesn’t deserve whatever insult is about to come out of your mouth.” 

Tony let out a loud sigh. He managed to keep the smile safely off his face as he directed his attention to the ceiling, following the lines between the panels for a moment. It was awfully plain. 

“Fri, stars please?”

Without a word, the entire ceiling was illuminated by a riot of stars, smattered across a spanning canvas of black. Deep shades of purple entered the mix too, and Tony’s eyes were drawn immediately to all of the constellations. He heard a sharp intake of breath somewhere from above his head.

“Since when has this been a thing?”

Tony shrugged. He had a vague feeling that installing a projector into both the common room and his own room had been a sleep-deprived and/or barely coherent decision.

“A while, maybe? Not really sure. What were we discussing again?”

“Breaking a few laws?”

“Ah, right! Gaining access to confidential S.H.I.E.L.D. files. I’ll tell you what, the secret is not giving a fuck. That seems to work out pretty well for me.”

Steve huffed what could’ve been a laugh, had there been more force behind it. “Maybe we should table this discussion until we’ve both gotten some sleep.”

“On the contrary, some of my best work has been the result of extreme sleep deprivation.” 

“Oh yeah, that time you walked into a pull door six times before I took pity on you sure was something.” 

“Laugh it up all you want, cap, that night in the lab was full of ground-breaking scientific discovery.” 

Steve hummed, offering up a lazy smile. “I mean, it was pretty enlightening for me too, watching you read the word ‘pull’ and then proceed to push with everything you had. Personally, I didn’t realise Clint could laugh so hard.”

If Tony had the energy to muster up indignance, he would’ve. Albeit, it was pretty hard to feel much of anything apart from the overwhelming fondness that was swelling in his chest, unbidden. His breaths grew slower, steadier, more content. 

Silence followed, but it was comfortable, filled to the brim with a sort of unspoken warmth. Tony found himself wondering whether sleepless nights were more common for Steve than he’d originally thought, whether he often found himself awake beyond midnight, planning out their missions right down to every possible contingency, positioning them all as well as he possibly could to ensure the least amount of risk. 

“Why now?”

He’d barely registered the words that left his mouth until they were out there, lingering in the air between him. Steve dropped his gaze down to him, tilting his head to the side in question. 

“What?”

“You’ve watched me almost die multiple times, but you only started getting touchy this time around. Why?” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, as though he wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself. He remained silent for a beat or two, turning the words over in his head. 

“When…” he hesitated, clearly debating whether he should keep going. His jaw set resolutely after a moment, quiet determination on his face. “Whenever there’s an alien attack, or a mission, we aren’t really being targeted specifically. I mean - they’re not necessarily after us, we just happen to get in the way, right? It all seems a little...surreal. But this time...they were targeting you, specifically, to kill you. All it would’ve taken is one bullet, and they would’ve got you too. Aliens and magic almost don’t seem real, but bullets do. If that makes sense.”

The laugh that left Tony’s throat was a bitter thing. “You obviously weren’t around for the myriad of charming people that have targeted me _very_ explicitly then.”

“I didn’t know you then. Well, I knew you, but I didn’t _know_ you. Not even sure I know you now, but I’m trying to.”

“Huh. How’s that working out for you? Figuring me out okay? Been told I’m a little complicated. Multi-faceted, if you will.” 

He looked up, only to find that Steve’s gaze had already settled on him.

“I think I’m doing okay.”

For once in his life, Tony found himself unsure of what to say. He swallowed, once, twice, three times, before looking back up at the galaxy above. He felt raw, exposed by the curiously intent look on Steve’s face, and usually that came with an intolerable amount of discomfort churning in his gut. Instead, there was nothing but that all-consuming warmth. 

“You know, people don’t bring it up nearly as often as the physical stuff, but Erskine’s serum gave me a photographic memory.”

Tony nodded, only slightly perplexed at the sudden change in topic. “Think I remember reading something like that in your file.”

Steve shuffled further up the couch, drawing Tony’s gaze towards him. 

“It’s good. I can look at something for a second and memorise it. I can remember faces, and names, and phone numbers.” He paused here, running fingers along the seam between two couch cushions. “I can also remember the faces of everyone that’s ever died in front of me.”

“Jesus, cap,” Tony mumbled, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

He’d known of course, that Steve’s mental capabilities had been enhanced. He just hadn’t necessarily contemplated the full implications of that. 

“Sorry. Too dark?” He almost looked a little sheepish now, gaze shifty and hands running more insistently along the creases of the couch.

“No, it’s...fine. Never really thought about what that must be like.”

Steve nodded, and if Tony hadn’t been paying close attention, he almost would’ve missed the minute trembling of his fingers, the stiff slope of his shoulders. It was almost like a tidal wave, the way it crashed down over him - everything that Steve had seen, everything that Steve had lost, all remembered in vivid, painstaking detail. 

“Makes for some pretty intense nightmares,” he admitted, in an almost scarily passive tone, like he was commenting idly about the weather. “Might also be why I can’t stand the thought of watching you die. Knowing that I’d remember every single detail for as long as I live.” 

Tony let out what he hoped was a long, even breath, even as guilt tried valiantly to claw its way up his throat. “I can’t - I can’t guarantee -” 

“I know,” said Steve, seeming awfully resigned, as though he’d grappled with that fact before. “I don’t expect you to. None of us can.”

His eyes had a sheen of brightness now that they didn’t before, Tony couldn’t help but note. He wracked his brain, trying desperately to think up something along the lines of reassuring. There were no two ways about it - he had self-destructive tendencies, half of which he’d come nowhere near close to addressing. He knew just how deep they ran too; deeper than he’d ever be willing to admit aloud, never satisfied, not while he still had ghosts to make up for, or pieces of himself left to give. 

“But - but that means you remember the good things in detail too, right? Like, say, this moment right here. You and I, having a spontaneous heart to heart on a couch at fuck o’clock in the morning, manful tears and all.”

Something in Steve’s gaze softened considerably as he sat up, looking down at Tony with a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. It also means I can remember the exact look on your face when you realised that door was a pull door, not a push door.”

Tony laughed despite himself. “Okay, I’m not sure how I feel about that one.” 

Steve’s smile widened just a little, but it was more than enough for Tony. He seemed steadier now, more clear-eyed, and his hair looked almost gold where the light hit it, in a way that managed to remind him of rolling cornfields on a clear blue day. It was unfair, really, that Steve looking all warm and rumpled was all it took for his brain to start turning to flowery metaphors. Maybe he _did_ need sleep, after all. He’d keep that thought safely locked away inside, or else FRIDAY would start rejoicing. _Her_ version of rejoicing anyway, which involved sounding more smug than any A.I. ever should. 

“Now I can’t help thinking about all the strange expressions I’ve probably pulled around you.” Tony paused, a slow, mischievous smile spreading itself across his face. “Ha, strange. I should bother him, it’s been a while.”

“Poor guy,” Steve remarked, to which Tony gave a derisive sniff.

“He loves me and appreciates my genius.”

“Mm, does he now?”

Something about humour dancing in Steve’s eyes gave Tony pause, just for a moment.

“Yes, he does. He said so, in those exact words,” he insisted, sitting up fully. 

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Obviously because you don’t trust me enough.”

“That’s not true, I trust you plenty. You just happen to be a liar sometimes.”

Tony gasped at that, feigning indignance. “Moi?” 

His eyes swept over Steve for a moment, cataloguing. He seemed relaxed now; open. He’d propped himself up on a cushion, and he was watching Tony, eyes lit from within by a burning sort of intensity that he knew well, could recognise from just a brief glance. It was accompanied by a soft smile, the corners of his mouth twitching with mirth, and honestly, Tony didn’t stand a chance. He never had. 

“I really wanna kiss you,” he said. “That’s not a lie.” 

Steve’s features smoothed out with shock, but only briefly before that spark was returning to his eyes, burning a whole lot brighter now. He swallowed, and Tony couldn’t help but track the movement. 

“That’s - good. I mean, uh-“ 

_Good? Did he just say that was good?_

Tony snorted, shaking his head in fond amusement, before moving forward and settling his hands on the back of the couch, right over Steve’s shoulders. Neither of them moved for a beat or two. Then, Steve was surging forward and bringing their lips together with a surprising amount of gentleness. It was tender, simmering warmth rather than frenzied heat, an easy slide of lips. Steve’s hands settled tentatively on his waist, thumbs rubbing idle patterns into the strip of skin exposed by his shirt riding up. 

He pressed himself up against Steve’s side once they’d exchanged a good amount of lingering kisses, almost deliriously happy. Steve’s arm remained around his waist, fingers trailing up and down his side. 

“Alright, spill, which dame from back in the day taught you to kiss like that?” 

“How do you know I’m not just a natural?” 

Tony’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Because I didn’t read much on your file about the serum giving you superkissing abilities.” He schooled his smile, feigning contemplation, before adding, “I guess I should be glad you’re even kissing me before the first date, with your delicate 40’s sensibilities and all.” 

Steve looked over at that, something like a smirk settling on his lips. “Oh, sugar, putting out before the first date? How’d a fella like me get so lucky?” 

“Nothing so drastic, cap,” Tony teased, hooking a leg over his. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me but I’m not that kind of girl.” 

Steve just hummed. “Will you let me take you to dinner, then?”

“That eager, huh?”

“To show my fella a good time? You bet.”

Steve’s smile looked a little abashed when Tony arched an amused eyebrow. “If you wanna be my fella, that is.” 

Tony hesitated for a moment, before giving a small nod, brushing a strand of hair away from Steve’s face like the horribly sappy person he was. “I do.” 

He decided then and there that his favourite version of Steve may just be tired and kiss-rumpled Steve, with his hair in disarray, lips that were pinked up ever so slightly, and a smile that crinkled his eyes. Maybe he’d even tell him that one day. Let him know what kind of power he held, without even knowing it. Maybe. 

“I bet these baby blue eyes really did it for the dames back in your day, huh?” Tony mused, running fingertips along the side of his face.

“I don’t know. Did those artfully brown eyes do it for the girls back in _your_ day?” 

Tony reared back at that, raising a hand to his chest. “Hey. You can’t follow up my crack at _your_ age with a crack about _my_ age. That’s not how this works.” 

Steve drew him back into the circle of his arms, and Tony, weak, went easily. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I add that to the list of forbidden joke topics, along with anything related to your height? Or...lack thereof?” 

Tony looked up at that, gaze even. He gave a resolute nod, mind entirely made up. 

“You’re sleeping on the couch.” 

Steve laughed, bright and amused. “Wouldn’t dream of moving,” he retorted. 

A little while later, Tony found himself rambling up a storm about the constellations on the ceiling, about how he didn’t believe in astrology one bit but still had Fri read him his daily horoscopes without fail, thank you very much, what if they came in handy? Steve tracked every single shape that was pointed out to him, only speaking when Tony’s eyelids began to grow heavy, his sentences verging on nonsensical. 

“Hey, what do those stars over there look like to you?” he asked, gesturing with his free hand. 

“Looks like an L,” said Tony, squinting. “Why?” 

Steve grinned. “No reason.” 

He wasn’t surprised when Tony’s breaths fully evened out, a peaceful expression stealing over his face as sleep pulled him under. Shifting slightly so that his neck wouldn’t be on such an awkward angle, Steve couldn’t help but press one final kiss to his forehead before letting his own eyes flutter shut. 

They’d have plenty of time for organising dates and breaking multiple laws in the morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Cut to Tony having a mild freak out in the morning*
> 
> Kudos/comments are appreciated if you liked the fic! 
> 
> I might write a sambucky follow up if I get inspiration :)


End file.
